Tupac Amaru, the son of the Serpent God, made Salqantay snow, your shadow reaches the heart and the deep shadow of the mountain god, unceasingly and without limits. Your god snake eyes that shone like the lens of all eagles, they could see the future, they could see far. Here I am strengthened by your blood, not dead, still screaming.
I'm screaming, I'm your people, you made back my soul, my tears I did it again, I wound not be commanded to close, it hurts every again. From the day that you spoke, from the time you fought with steely, murderous English, from the time he spit in the face, from when your boiling blood is shed on the earth boiling in my heart is out of peace and resignation. There are only fire, but no snake hatred against the demons, our masters.
is singing the river,
is mourning the calendar,
is turning the wind
day and night on the steppe straw vibrates
our sacred river is roaring;
in our Wamanis mountain ridges,
in his teeth, dripping and shining snow.
Where are you since you shot for us?
Our Father, listen carefully to the voice of our rivers, and listen to the fearsome great forest trees, the singing demon, sea-white, listen to them, my father, Snake God. We are alive, yet we are! Movement of rivers and rocks, the dance of trees and mountains, its movement, powerful blood drink increasingly stronger. We're raising, for your home, remembering your name and death!
In the villages, with their little hearts are crying children.
In the highlands, no clothes, no hat, no coat, almost blind, men are crying, sadder, more sadly than boys.
Under the shade of a tree, man still cries, Snake God, the more hurt you in your time, pursued as rows of lice.
Hear the vibration of my body! Listen to my cold blood, his ice cream shake.
Listen Lambros tree on the edge of the dove abandoned
never loved;
the sweetest cry no rivers, springs that gently
sprout the world.
We are still, we live! (Kachqanirakmi)
In your great wound, your pain that nobody would have closed, is raised for us the anger boiling in your veins. We must stand up now, father, our brother, my God Snake. Since we are not afraid to ray powder lords, to bullets and shrapnel, and do not fear much. We are yet! Shouting your name, as rising rivers and the fire that devours mature straw, as the endless crowds wild ants, we throw up our land is really our land and our people our people.
Listen, my father, my God Snake, listen:
bullets are killing
machine guns popping veins,
iron sabers are cutting human flesh
horses are building hardware, with its crazy and heavy helmets, my head,
my stomach is bursting,
here and everywhere
ice on the back hills of Cerro de Pasco,
in the cold plains in the heated valleys of the coast,
on the large grass Live, from the deserts.
my dear Father, God Snake, your face was like the big sky, hear me now the heart of the Lords is more frightening, more dirty, inspires more hatred. Have corrupted our own brothers, they have turned the heart and with them armed with weapons that the devil himself of the demons could invent and manufacture, are in danger. And yet, there is a light in our lives! We are shining! We lowered the cities of the lords. From there I speak.
We dropped like endless rows of ants of the great forest. Here we are with you, Chief beloved, unforgettable, eternal Amaru.
We grabbed our land. Our lambs are fed with dry leaves the wind drag, that neither the wind wants, our only cow salt licks the little dying land. Snake God our Father, in your time we were still owners, commoners. Now, like a dog on the run from death, we run to the hot valleys. We have reached thousands of people outside, terrified birds.
Listen, father, from streams far from the cold or burning plains that false Wiraqocha took us, we fled and have spread throughout the four regions world. Some people cling to their threatened land and small. They have been up in their wants and, like us, trembling with anger, think, contemplate. I no longer fear death. Our lives are colder, more painful than death. Listen, Snake God: the scourge, jail, endless suffering, death, strengthened us, like you, brother, as your body and your spirit. How far we have to push this new life? The force that ferments and raises death in humans is not that man can stir the world to shake?
I'm in Lima, in the huge village, head of the false Wiraqocha. In Pampa Comas, on the sand with my tears, my strength, my blood, singing, I built a house. The river of my village, his shadow, his large wooden cross, herbs and flowering shrubs, surrounding it, are, are beating inside that house, a hummingbird gold plays in the air above the roof.
Al immense Messrs. people have come and what we are removing. With our hearts we achieve it, penetrate it, to our delight not extinct, with the thunderous joy of suffering man who has the power of all the heavens with our hymns old and new, we are wrapping. We have to wash some blame for centuries sedimented in this corrupt head of the false Wiraqocha, tears, love and fire. Whatever it takes! We are thousands of thousands, here and now. We are together, we have gathered from village to village, name by name, and we're pushing this great city that we hated, despised us as horse droppings. We must become people of men who will sing the hymns of the four regions of our world, happy city, where every man working in huge people not to hate and be clean like the snow in the mountains where the gods of evil pestilence never comes. So, likewise to be, my father, so it must be, in your name, which falls on life as an eternal waterfall jumping and shines all the spirit and the road.
Quiet waiting
quiet hey,
quiet sees this entire world.
lifting me I'm fine!
Canto;
same song I sing.
learn and the language of Castile,
understand the wheel and the machine
grows us your name
Wiraqocha children talk to you and you
listen
as the master warrior, fire
inflames pure, enlightening.
Comes the dawn.
tell me that other people
hit men, the suffering,
are now eagles, condors
immense and free flight.
Quiet expected.
make it beyond as you wanted and dreamed.
will hate you more that the hated;
love each other more than you loved,
dove with love charmed, calendar.
Quiet expected, with that hatred and love with that restless and boundless, which you could not will we.
Al sleeping lake ice, the black abyss, the blue fly to go and proclaim the death of the moon, stars and earth, the soft and powerful man's heart, to every living and nonliving, that is in the world, which encourages or discourages the blood, man or dove, stone or sand, we'll rejoice, having infinite light, Amaru, my father. The holy one death will no longer released with braided slings or by lightning exploded gunpowder. The world will be the man, the man the world, all for you.
down to the ground, Snake God, infúndeme your breath, put your hands on the invisible material that covers the heart. Give me your strength, dear father.
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